


Prove it All Night

by LastAmericanMermaid



Series: Born to Run [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Light Angst, Lingerie, Lipstick, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Smut, Steve has a praise kink, Stucky - Freeform, is anyone surprised, ok there's a little plot, shameless advertising for Besame cosmetics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastAmericanMermaid/pseuds/LastAmericanMermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky remembers something Steve used to do when he was small. </p><p>Steve decides he's game to try it again. </p><p>(A porny extra from my Promised Land 'verse, featuring lots of sex, Steve in lingerie and lipstick, and Bucky stupidly in love.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prove it All Night

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I have a lot of extras I want to write for this AU, and I challenged myself to write more smut, so....this is what happens when I see the Tom Ford campaign with men in lipstick. I imagine Steve Rogers in lipstick. Goodbye.

 

“Bucky,” Steve hollers from the mudroom, toeing off his dirty trail-running shoes. “Buck, what do you wanna do for dinner?”

There’s no reply, which automatically makes Steve anxious.

“Buck?” He heads for the stairs, ears straining for any sounds of distress, any small signal that something’s not as it should be.

When he gets to their bedroom, though, all of the breath he’s been holding expels with relief; Bucky’s lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows and poring over a couple of Steve’s sketchbooks on their bed. His hair is brushed back off his face, damp with sweat. Steve notices that his right hand is wrapped, a telltale sign that Bucky’s been hitting the bag.

Steve clears his throat, leaning against the doorframe, not wanting to startle the other man.

“Whatcha got there, Buck?” He nods at the spiral-bound sketchbook that’s currently open, willing himself not to dwell on the quick burst of embarrassment—he’s well aware what kinds of things he draws, what Bucky comes out looking like when Steve’s got a pencil in his hand.

Bucky looks up, eyes glazed and dreamy, a steady flush over his cheekbones.

“You,” he half-growls, then practically springs off of the bed to yank Steve into the room by the front of his sweaty t-shirt. “You little _shit._ ”

Bucky pins Steve to the wall, and it sends a shiver up his spine to feel the hard nudge of the other man’s cock against his thigh through his shorts.

“You left those pictures lying around on purpose,” Bucky says accusingly. “Just waiting for me to find ‘em.”

Steve tries and fails to fight a grin.

“Maybe I thought you’d respect a man’s privacy,” he drawls, eyes drifting down to Bucky’s red-bitten lower lip. “Just ‘cause I left it out, don’t mean that’s an invitation to look.”

Bucky slides a hand up under Steve’s shirt, pinches a nipple between his fingers. He looks pleased when Steve arches into the touch, eyes falling shut.

“And then,” Bucky continues, leaning in to suck wet kisses into the salty skin of Steve’s neck, “You come up here, all sweaty and gorgeous, just the way I like you…”

“Oh yeah?” Steve can’t help being coy—even after all these years, spurring Bucky on in these moments never loses its shine. “You like it when I stink from a workout? I guess you always did have low standards…”

“Fuck you,” Bucky laughs, then, as if to prove some point, grinds his hips into Steve’s. Their cocks are lined up just right, and he can’t help the way he arches into it, starts thrusting helplessly against Bucky. “You love it, too.”

And he’s right—Steve’s always loved when Bucky would come home from the docks, ripe with that briny salt smell, dirt under his nails, hair damp and starting to wave. He’s always thought that the hotter the weather is, the better it is for fucking; dirty and slow and perfect.

There were a lot of summer nights back in Brooklyn, nights that Steve would wait up for Bucky to return from whichever job it’d been that day, craving the dirty, sticky-slide of skin and the sharp taste under his tongue. It was on nights like those that Steve thought Bucky’s scent was the most intoxicating. He couldn’t keep his hands off of him.

Lucky him, it went both ways.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, reaching up to pull Bucky in for a messy kiss. “I do love it. Fuck.”

They lose themselves for awhile like that, hot sliding contact and white-hot flashes of teeth, hands and fingers roaming while they trade lips and tongues in a fever.

“You know what else I love?” Bucky pants into his ear, tugging at the hem of Steve’s shirt.

He backs away a little so he can take his own shirt off, and so Steve can pull his up and over his head, throw it to the corner. Then, he comes back in close, brings one hand up to cradle the back of Steve’s head, uses the other to pull him in by the waist so that their hips are pressed against each other again.

“What’s that, Buck?” Steve half-moans, tipping his head back so Bucky can maul the tender skin of his throat.

“Love how pink you get,” he replies, sounding drunk with lust. Bucky’s always sounded like this, Steve knows; when he’s really gone for it, he starts slurring, and his lids get heavy, and it’s the hottest fucking thing in the world, if you ask Steve.

“I love this,” Bucky trails his metal fingertips lightly down from Steve’s collarbone, over his nipple, down past his bellybutton—“This flush you get, Stevie. Pink all over, pretty as hell. They oughtta make you a pin-up.”

Steve laughs, but it breaks off into a breathy groan when Bucky’s hand reaches below the waistband of his shorts to grip his aching dick.

“You used to—fuck, that feels good—used to always say that. Brought me home some lipstick once, when I was small.” He remembers how it smelled, waxy and exotic. “And some panties, and stockings, too. You always said it was a shame we couldn’t play like that during the war.”

And he can tell by the way Bucky’s pupils go huge, and the way his breath hitches, that he’s remembering it, too.

The panties had been these little silky things, trimmed in lace, and the stockings had felt like a cool whisper over his skin when Steve had put them on. Bucky had nearly torn them to shreds in his frenzy to get them off in bed. He had had lipstick smears all over by the time that night was through. They both had.

It was a shade called American Beauty, a bright pink-based red in a pretty gold tube, and Steve can recall the little thrill that went through him as he applied it in their small bathroom mirror, using the angled edge to line his lips, and the blunt part to fill them in.

The color stood out against his pink-pale skin, made his eyes look shockingly blue. It figured that Bucky would be able to choose the right shade of lipstick for him.

“Fucking hell,” Bucky curses now, here in the future, one hand down Steve’s shorts. “How could I forget that?” He yanks his hands out of Steve’s pants, then guides them backwards, hands on Steve’s waist, until they can fall onto the bed unceremoniously. “Of all the things they stole from me, you in lipstick and women’s panties is maybe the principal tragedy.”

“Maybe I should buy some, then, huh?” Steve raises a knowing eyebrow. “What do you think, Buck? Think I could still make a pretty picture, all made up like a dame?”  
  


After that, there are no words passed between them; only sighs and gasps traded like prayers.  
  


. . .

  
“Stevie, I’m ho—holy _shit_ ,” Bucky stops in his tracks, aware that he’s gaping yet unable to stop himself.

“What, is something wrong?” Steve, the little shit, practically bats his eyelashes.

  
He’s wearing lipstick.

A deep, true red, a near perfect match for the color Peggy Carter had worn during the war.

He’s also wearing silk stockings with the seam up the back, and these little lacy panties with a fucking garter belt, and—and these are what’s really got Bucky’s jaw unable to lift itself off the floor—a pair of elegant black stiletto heels.

And he’s just in the kitchen, sitting at the table doing his goddamn crosswords like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

Bucky’s mouth feels dry. He sees the pink flush already starting across Steve’s chest, over his cheeks. It only makes the lipstick look even prettier against his skin, only serves to make his eyes more blue.

“Bed,” Bucky says. “Now.”

“Yes _sir_ ,” Steve answers, his voice low and throaty.

He makes sure to walk in front of Bucky up the stairs, really prolonging the torture—his ass in those clingy little panties as making Bucky weep—and it doesn’t escape Bucky’s notice how startlingly well Steve walks in five-inch heels.

“You been practicing?” He can’t help asking, and he’s rewarded with Steve’s cheeky smile from over his shoulder.

“Lotta nights with those USO girls,” he replies, swaying his hips with a little something extra as he leads the way into their bedroom. “They thought it was fun to dress me up in their clothes.”

Bucky feels like he’s burning out of his skin, that’s how bad he wants Steve right now.

He crowds Steve against the wall once they’re both in the bedroom, nudging his nose with his and loving how he has to tilt his face up now that Steve’s in heels. It makes his heart pound even harder, having to look up to kiss his love.

“That right?” He murmurs, running his hand up the back of Steve’s thigh, feeling the dreamy fabric of the stocking and the soft prickle of hair underneath. “You let them make you their doll? Honestly, Stevie,”—his hand travels upwards, until he’s cupping Steve’s ass in his palm, firm under the silky material—“You’re gettin’ me all hot and bothered, here. That what you want? Get me all worked up?”

“Maybe,” Steve purrs. “Wanted to see what you’d do.”

Bucky groans, painfully hard in his pants, and reaches up with one hand to pull Steve down for a kiss. The lipstick smears a little, he can feel the waxy slide and smell the faint, vanilla-cake scent. That’s one thing that’s definitely improved in the future—lipstick had used to have such an unnatural smell, and the texture was stickier, more of a hindrance where kissing was concerned.

Now, Bucky can kiss Steve and still feel the softness of his lips underneath the makeup, can flick his tongue against his bottom lip and not taste chemicals.

“Lemme up for a sec,” Steve pushes Bucky away after a few minutes of heated necking, then flips them around so it’s Bucky whose back is against the wall. “Something I wanna do real quick.”

Then, without further preamble, Steve drops to his knees, making short work of yanking Bucky’s sweats down, too.

“This for me?” Steve takes ahold of Bucky’s aching dick and looks up, eyes crinkling at the corners, bright and saucy. His lipstick is smeared, but only so slightly.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” Bucky moans.

He can’t help the choked-off gasp that escapes him when Steve’s mouth wraps around him, hot and wet. He looks down and nearly comes right then at the sight—those pretty red lips stretching around the thick shaft of his cock, the warm burn of Steve’s stubble brushing his thighs.

“Gonna come if you don’t quit that,” he pants, threading his fingers through the longer hair at the crown of Steve’s head. “Wanna fuck you.”

Steve pulls off of his cock with a slick pop, saliva drooling slickly off the head, a ring of red at the base.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he says— _the little shit_ , Bucky thinks again—and then lets Bucky manhandle him onto his back on the bed.

Steve’s bulge through the thin material of the panties is obscene—a little damp patch spreading where the head of his erection is, fabric straining against his dick. Bucky can’t help the way he’s staring down at the man beneath him—his eyes linger on Steve’s pecs, on the ripples of his abdomen, catching on the little trail of hair leading down and disappearing below pale pink satin and lace.

“These are coming off,” he decides, tugging at the panties but growling in frustration when they won’t go past the garter clips. “Fuck, Stevie, help.”

Steve props himself up on his forearms, reaching down to unclip the stockings for easier removal of the panties.

“Should I take everything off, or…?” He practically bats his eyelashes up at Bucky, and they’re so dark and thick and long—even more so than usual—that Bucky realizes there must be mascara involved, too.

“Keep the stockings on,” he groans. “And the heels. Roll over for me, would you, doll? I wanna eat you out.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, then he’s scrambling to do as Bucky’s asked, balancing on his hands and knees, ass exposed.

Bucky can’t resist the urge to get a good, open-palmed smack against Steve’s left cheek, earning him a breathy moan and a large, pink handprint to admire.

“Gonna get you so nice and wet,” he hums, leaning in to press the flat of his tongue to the little rosy hole. This is met with more moaning, and Steve’s ass grinding back against his mouth.

“Please,” he whines, and Bucky smiles to himself.

“You really want it, huh?” He asks between pressing open-mouthed kisses to one asscheek. “What do you want, Stevie? Be specific,” he adds.

“Fuck you,” Steve curses, trying fruitlessly to push his ass onto Bucky’s face. “You know what I want.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “But I wanna hear you say it. Gets me hot.”

“Fine,” Steve spits. “Buck, I need you to fuck me with your tongue, please.” He’s not holding back, that’s for sure. That’s begging, pure and brazen, and Bucky can’t get enough of it. “I need you to eat me out so I’m all open for you, then I need your cock in me.”

“Jesus,” Bucky half-whispers, lust-dazed. Then, remembering himself, he dives back in to tongue Steve’s asshole, laving the tight little muscle and dribbling spit over it until Steve’s practically crying into the pillows and whimpering that he needs to come.

“If I let you come,” Bucky brings a finger up to tease the rim of Steve’s hole, “Can you come again when I’m fucking you?” Then, laughing, he says, “What’m I saying? ‘Course you can. You could come four times in a night.”

“ _Please_ , Bucky,” Steve whines, and Bucky drives his tongue deep into him, reaching around with one hand to tug at Steve’s cock, slick with pre-come.

It’s only a few seconds before Steve’s coming all over Bucky’s hand, all over the sheets below him, torn between thrusting his cock into that loving fist, or pushing his ass back against that worshipful, insistent tongue.

When he’s all wrung out, Steve goes limp and pliant, letting Bucky turn him over onto his back, push his legs up to his chest. Bucky’s slicked his own cock with the stuff from their nightstand drawer, desperate to get inside Steve.  
  


“God _damn_ ,” Bucky murmurs. “You got no idea how good you look right now, baby.”

And then he’s pushing inside, feeling that heat bear down on him, that tight wetness that’s left him reeling since the first time. Civilizations could rise and fall in the time Bucky’s inside Steve, and he’d never be even the slightest bit aware. His blood thrums in his veins to a Morse code rhythm that spells Steve’s name.

All his senses are overwhelmed by Steve: he tastes the salt of sweat and the powder-sweetness of makeup and the sharp tang of soap; he smells Steve’s deodorant, smells his warm skin scent—unchanged since they were just boys—and he hears nothing but Steve’s labored breathing, his gasps and moans.

He sees all that flushing pink skin, those eyes with their coal-dark lashes, the lips with their smeared lipstick. He feels all of it, from the fingertips digging into his back, to the slick crush of Steve around him, to the slip-slide of sweat-damp stocking silk where Steve’s thighs squeeze Bucky’s waist.

It should be overwhelming, but it’s not—at least, not in any way Bucky doesn’t want.

He starts to move, taking the little sounds Steve is making as the encouragements he knows them to be. He knows all of Steve’s noises in bed—which one means ‘harder’, which is ‘softer’, which one means that he wants his nipples played with or his cock stroked. Bucky knows and he follows the pathways Steve’s beautiful body has laid out for him.

“ _Oh,_ ” Steve gasps, and his eyes glaze over when Bucky hits that spot deep inside of him, mouth hanging open just a little. When Bucky ducks his head to graze the bud of one pink nipple with his lips and teeth, Steve whines and digs his nails into the sweat-slick skin of Bucky’s back.

His cock is full again, red and leaking at the head, twitching with every thrust of Bucky’s hips. He half-mumbles something, one arm flung over his face.

“Gonna have to— _fuck_ —speak up for me, baby doll,” Bucky pants, bracing himself with one hand on the headboard.

“Need you to tell me, Buck,” Steve says breathlessly, flushing hopelessly pinker.

There’s no need to ask what it is that Steve needs to be told; they figured this out between them a long time ago, that Steve’s burning desire to be good enough did not suddenly shut off in the bedroom. He needs to hear that he’s something, needs to be praised and sweet-talked. Bucky’d have to be some kind of fucking dope not to give him what he needs.

“Oh, sugar, I’m sorry,” Bucky strokes the hair back off Steve’s damp forehead, slowing the momentum of his hips to a gentle, slow pace. “That’s my fault, Stevie, I just got so dizzy over you, I forgot what you needed.”

Steve arches his back and cants his hips up to meet Bucky’s slow pumps.

“No, not your fault,” he protests, but Bucky quiets him with a kiss.

“My gorgeous fucking guy,” Bucky murmurs. “You got no idea what you do to me, huh? You think you do, but you don’t. I promise you don’t.” His arms are starting to get shaky, and the pressure building in his balls is aching something fierce.

“What do I do to you, Buck?” Steve’s hands find Bucky’s ass, fingers kneading, palms cupping flesh and muscle.

“You drive me fucking nuts, doll. Walking around, looking like you do—and that’s just the frosting. You’re a whole cake, and then some.” He dips his head to suck more fast-fading marks into the skin of Steve’s neck. “You’re so good, Stevie, so good to me, for me. Marry you again every single day if I could.”

That gets a long moan, low in the throat and vibrating through the chest, and Bucky knows Steve’s close.  
  
“I can’t hold out much longer, sugar,” he tells Steve, lips brushing against his ear. “I want to see you come, though, huh? Lemme see how beautiful you look when you’re coming on my cock. It’ll set me off, you know it will.”

Honestly, he can’t believe he’s even stringing together coherent sentences at this point, he’s so desperate for release, but Bucky grits his teeth and picks up the pace of his thrusts again, maneuvering Steve’s legs so his knees are pressed up nearly to his chin.

“Shit,” he hisses when Bucky reaches a spit-slick hand down to wrap around his cock. “Bucky.”

“‘M right here, Stevie,” Bucky tells him. “Come on, baby, come for me so I can fill you up.”

That does it, and Steve’s cock pulses and he cries out as the hot spunk shoots onto his belly and coats Bucky’s fingers.

“Fuck,” Bucky has time just enough to stutter before emptying his own release, cock buried up to the hilt in Steve’s ass.

It’s intense—his vision whites out for several seconds, and when he comes back to reality, he can’t feel his toes. He pulls out, too dazed to even spare his usual scrunch of nose at the wet squelching sound as they part. Flopping onto the pillow beside Steve, Bucky struggles to turn onto his side.

“God, you’re somethin’ else,” he marvels breathlessly, feeling like his whole body has gone boneless.  
  


Steve’s color is returning to normal, though the deep pink stain on his cheeks and chest remains, and he’s managed enough energy to reach over for the pack of baby wipes they keep in the nightstand for when they’re too tired to properly clean up. He’s also kicked the stiletto heels to the floor and undone the garter belt. The stockings are so full of runs, that when Steve takes those off, he just balls them up and tosses them towards the trash can.

The remnants of lipstick are all around his mouth, and his hair is sticking up in exactly the way it always did in bed when they were still young and poor in Brooklyn, and something about that makes Bucky feel all of a sudden like he’s going to cry.

It’s not unusual for him to get waves of emotion like this; he figures it’s a side-effect of being kept in stasis for so long, being brainwashed and kept in a suspended state of not thinking his own thoughts.

So, when he was finally safe here with Steve, of course his feelings started coming back at strange times, with no warning. Often, they are brought about by something Steve-related; a smell, a taste, a song that always always always ends up having to do with Steve Rogers.

He takes a handful of wipes from the pack and cleans the sticky semen off of Steve first, then himself, concentrating on the task until it’s finished.

When they’re as clean as they’re going to get right now, Bucky lets the tears fall.  
  
Steve knows how to hold him when he cries.

“You could never get your damn hair to lay flat,” Bucky explains in a raw voice, sniffling. His cheek is pressed against Steve’s bare chest, and he can taste the salty wetness of his own tears.

  
They curl up together, naked and loose and drained, under their thin summer quilt. Bucky drifts in and out of sleep, eyelids heavy enough to stay closed even as afternoon sun streams through the windows.

“You’re my whole world, Buck,” Steve says softly, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

He doesn’t expect anything back, just says it plainly, same as he always has. That’s one of the many marvels of Steve Rogers, Bucky thinks dazedly. He gives Bucky everything, unselfishly and without hesitation.

  
Before drifting off, Bucky thinks he can hear the soft strains of sleepy jazz on a scratchy record player.

  
.

  
After they’ve woken up a few hours later, scrubbed the sticky leftovers of their coupling off and used up all the hot water horsing around in the shower, Steve and Bucky sit out on the back porch with sandwiches and iced tea, watching the sun sinking and the fireflies coming out of hiding.

The silence between them is pleasant—but Bucky would be hard pressed to think of something between them nowadays that isn’t—and the citronella candle on the wicker end table burns steadily on even as the wax liquefies.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, bumping the other man’s knee with the side of his own.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“You should wear lipstick more often,” Bucky replies, poorly hiding his grin as he sips from his sweating glass of tea.

Steve lets out one of his big, loud laughs, the ones Bucky loves best, and shoves him in the shoulder.  
  
_I love you,_ Bucky thinks aggressively at the man beside him.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

And then, like he’s reading Bucky’s mind, Steve smiles knowingly and leans in for a long kiss.  
  


“Anything for my fella,” Steve says when they part, eyes twinkling in the near-dark.  
  
  


 

 

 

 

((They'll be back in some more extras soon ;))

**Author's Note:**

> haha...yeah.... so, that happened. I can't quite believe I wrote this. Leave me a comment if you enjoyed it, or if you want to cry about Stucky together ;D 
> 
> Hopefully I'll get some more actual plot going in the next extra. 
> 
> <3


End file.
